


Release

by Sureia



Category: Daria (Cartoon)
Genre: Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 14:38:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7442938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sureia/pseuds/Sureia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stacy Rowe deals with the pressures of the day in a time honoured fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Release

“Mom! Dad! I’m home!”

Stacy paused at the door, listening for an answer as she closed it behind her. It was unlikely that either was home this early in the day, of course, what with their jobs and all, but it never hurt to be careful. If her time with the Fashion Club had taught her anything, it was to watch her step and to plan her moves carefully. Briefly, she felt a twinge of irritation at the thought of her friends, but she pushed it aside. Not yet, she thought; she just wanted to enjoy the peace and quiet first. There was no response, so she smiled to herself and locked the front door, not wanting to be surprised, and stretched, heading for her room.

Even the walk down the mostly quiet hallway was comforting, she thought, and so different from the crowded halls of Lawndale High. There were any number of things she needed to do, of course, from homework, to picking an outfit for tomorrow, to eating and reviewing her notes for the next meeting to minimise the amount of scowling Sandi threw her way, but that could all wait. Letting herself breath like the book said, she let each step carry away her worries, like flowing water. They flowed down from her head as she moved, slithering over her skin and fell away at her feet. She shivered a little at the thought, thought not really cold, and skipped into her lair.

She felt a little thrill, looking around at the posters, the book and videos half-hidden behind stuffed animals, and even the console tucked away in case she had surprise visitors, knowing what Sandi would say if she saw it., not that Sandi would ever stoop to coming over. She liked her room, just as she liked coming home in general, but her room was her sanctuary; there was no other way to put it. All day, be at school or out there in the world, she had to be somebody, she had to wear a mask, fill a role. She had to be what they wanted out there, but here she could just be herself. In a way, she supposed, she was grateful to Sandi for giving her an alternative to the other cliques. She liked fashion, she did, and she liked the perks of popularity, even if she didn’t get as many of them as some people, but other things she could have done without.

Dropping her bag behind the door, she doffed her jacket and kicked off her shoes, undoing the braids in her hair with a smile on her face. She enjoyed this; taking the mask off. It was like putting her worries in a little box and stuffing them away to one side where they couldn’t bother her. Sure, she thought,letting her hair fall loose in a messy wave, Sandi might call later, or there might be some other crisis, but until then she could just be herself, and that felt good. This was her space, and no-one in the Fashion Club respected her space. She sighed, passing a hand over her eyes and went to remove her make-up. She wasn’t going to think about that; this was her time.

Standing before the full-length mirror in her closet, she looked her reflection square in the eye and prepared to remove the final few layers of the mask. She wasn’t sure exactly when this had become a key part of her ritual, but it had, and she smiled again, savouring the moment. It was funny, but she was oddly nervous, even though she knew that the pretty girl in the mirror wouldn’t judge her. Slowly, and never taking her eyes off that girl, she slipped out of her top like unwrapping a gift, and she shivered again, feeling that tension begin to pool in the pit of her stomach. Biting her lip, she let her hands roam for a moment, caressing the swell of her breasts before straying down to the junction of her thighs. It was a delicious feeling, and a forbidden one, which made it all the more enticing.

Licking lips that were suddenly quite dry, she pulled her hands back, feeling a certain throb of disappointment, but she savoured that too. Anticipation made the moment that much better, she felt, and she undid the button on her pants, hooking her thumbs into the waist of the garment, but only to loosen it just enough. She was breathing heavier now, her face flushed, eyes alight, and she let her hands roam up over her stomach and back to her breasts again, feeling that tell-tale tingle spread even at the thought of it. This time, she lavished more attention on them, gently at first, but loving the way the fabric of her bra felt against her skin, and the way her skin responded to the attention.

She forced herself to stop, feeling that tension coil even tighter, but only long enough to shirk the rest of her clothing, removing another layer of wrapping and revealing .every inch of her to view. She took a moment to revel in that view, knowing that she was the only one that got to see it, and bounded back to her bed, landing with a giggle on the duvet. It was like landing on a cloud, and she dug her fingers and toes into the duvet luxuriantly. She loved her bed; she’d pestered her parents for ages to get a proper one, claiming back pain and poor sleep. In other areas, she might have been willing to compromise, but not this one, and it was her ambition in life to own a bed three times the size so that she could almost swim in it.

Comfortable, she returned her hands to her perfect breasts. Sure, some people, _jealous_ people, would have said that they weren’t perfect, that they weren’t big enough, that they weren’t the right shape or that something was wrong about them. They might have compared her to Brittany, or any of the cheerleaders, but she didn’t care; to her, they were perfect. She let her hands roam over them now, teasing and tweaking at her nipples, and gasping when there was an answering tug between her thighs. She loved these moments; it was like dipping her whole body into a warm bath, and the look in her reflection’s eyes was different now, hungry, thinking of them, all of them, just falling away. She shuddered, seeing a question there, and she bit her lip again, one hand straying downwards.

Part of her didn’t want to, thinking that the waiting was better, but that part was small and being drowned out by a larger need. It was that need she saw now, that hunger, and the anticipation built further and further as her hand crept downwards. It didn’t need to move far, not far at all, but the moment stretched, until that hand sifted through her pubic hair, and she gasped at the feel of slick flesh. But it didn’t stop there; her fingers slipped inside, brushing her clit, and her breath hitched. Her other hand was moving faster now, roaming father, and she was breathing in a steady rhythm as her fingers began to move over her. That hunger was bottomless now, beckoning, and she surrendered gladly, her motions becoming more and more erratic as the tension built, and built... She moaned, low and loud, and for a moment, caught sight of herself anew. The woman in the mirror was something else, gasping, heaving, one hand caressing her breast while the other was thrust wantonly between her thighs. The sight was enough to push her over the edge, and she came with a cry, grinding her clit against her palm.

It took a moment for the room to come back into focus, and she laughed, a breathy, heady thing, as she caught her breath. Coming down was always a challenge; her legs felt weak, and her head swam, drawing a throaty laugh as she struggled to sit up. She passed a hand over her eyes, and through her hair, looking again at her reflection. This was a person that the boys and girls of Lawndale did not and would not get to see, not if she had her way. Let them say what they wanted, she thought, locking eyes with the sexual being in the mirror, but this girl was just for her. Giggling to herself, she smiled a mischievous little smile and threw herself back down, starting anew.

She had ages yet.


End file.
